


dressed up (and stripped down)

by omigiri



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Anal Sex, Barebacking, Butt Plugs, Canon Compliant, Established Relationship, M/M, Phone Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Post-Time Skip, THE WHORIFICATION OF KITA SHINSUKE, Webcam/Video Chat Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-29
Updated: 2021-01-29
Packaged: 2021-03-14 15:49:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29048685
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/omigiri/pseuds/omigiri
Summary: “Yours?” Shinsuke tugs loosely at the collar, dragging it to the side and letting it slip down the slope of his shoulder. His fingers follow the movement of the fabric along the line of his collarbone and Atsumu watches them with eager eyes, drinking it in greedily. “And what would that make the person wearing it then?”“Mine,” Atsumu is quick to respond, a hoarse whisper, rushed and demanding. “Mine, all mine.”Kita doesn't let the long distance between them get Atsumu down for too long.
Relationships: Kita Shinsuke/Miya Atsumu
Comments: 26
Kudos: 177
Collections: Atsukita NSFW





	dressed up (and stripped down)

**Author's Note:**

> hello! this is my (one day late ;A;) contribution to nsfw atsukita week: day 4 - video/phone sex & lingerie/lace!
> 
> shout out to the author who supplied the kita whore tag. i appreciate you so much.
> 
> happy reading!

“A promise is a promise.” Shinsuke’s voice is a little crackly as it blares out of Atsumu’s phone. “It’s rude t’go back on yer word.”

Atsumu just manages a long drawn out whine, feeling himself pouting so severely he’s sure his face will never recover. He smushes his face into a cushion on his couch to save himself from having to give any further response.

“I’ll see ya in a couple weeks so it’s fine,” Shinsuke continues. Even with the static from the speakers, he still sounds calm and comforting, soothing over Atsumu’s prickly mood despite how much he wants to sulk for longer.

“Dun’ wanna wait _weeks_ ,” he complains into the cushion, words almost completely muffled. He turns his face to the side so he can speak more clearly. “I’ll be old an’ wrinkly by then.”

Shinsuke laughs gently. “Ya don’t have ta be so dramatic. Next time just plan a little better so ya don’t have ta get so down about it.”

“It’s not _my_ fault!” Atsumu exclaims, sitting up and jostling his phone. He watches it slide down the arm of the couch as he gestures wildly with his hands even though Shinsuke wouldn’t be able to see him given how his phone’s camera is currently slipping into the crease between the couch cushions. “Sunarin didn’t even tell me he was goin’ home ‘til this week!” He stabs an accusatory finger in the direction of his phone screen. “Ya should be lecturin’ _him_!”

“Would ya like me to do that now?” Shinsuke asks, voice flat. “I’ll be sure ta let him know that he needs yer permission before planning to visit his own home town.”

Atsumu whines again, burying his face into the cushions once more. “ _Shi-in_ ,” he groans, dragging it out just to be a little extra childish. “Yer supposed ta be on _my_ side.”

Shinsuke just hums, thoroughly amused. There’s a comfortable moment of silence before—

“Ya know,” Shinsuke begins slowly. He clicks his tongue, a shade of disapproval in the single sound, “Yer the one who called ‘cause ya wanted ta see me but ya aren’t even botherin’ ta look.”

As he pats around blindly to find his phone, Atsumu laughs into the pillow his face is currently breathing in. “Shinsuke, are ya _poutin_ ’? Ya totally are.”

“Like ya have been this whole time?” comes Shinsuke’s response. The speakers whisper with movement as he shifts on his end and Atsumu finally lifts his head to properly look at him.

Atsumu gets why his boyfriend wanted him to look. He totally gets it. The view on his screen is one that makes his brows lift in surprise, mouth parting in a quiet gasp. He gapes at his boyfriend, trying to form words but ultimately coming up with nothing, his mind completely blank save for the realization that he just spent the last few minutes wasting precious time complaining about something he’s, to be honest, completely forgotten about, when he could have been drooling over the sight of his boyfriend all dressed in _his clothes_. Something possessive reaches out and grips Atsumu entirely.

Shinsuke’s eyes meet Atsumu’s with his level gaze and even if he looks calm as ever, Atsumu can find the little signs that give away the feelings kept trapped beneath that impassive expression. His lips quiver slightly at the edge, eager to curve into the beginnings of a shy smile, and the highs of his cheekbones are kissed a pale pink, as if Atsumu has just brushed his lips against the soft skin there himself. He shifts in place, waiting for Atsumu to come up with a more coherent reaction than the wordless staring he’s been managing so far. He fiddles with the too-big cuffs of his sleeves, the fabric nearly swallowing up his hands, a clear indication that the growing silence is only feeding Shinsuke’s impending nerves.

“Atsumu?”

Atsumu swallows hard, throat working as his eyes rove over Shinsuke’s form. He looks extra small with the way Atsumu’s sweatshirt hangs off of him, though Atsumu is very familiar with the strength held in the broad shoulders and solid chest that remains hidden beneath the loose clothing. He’s just— he’s _just_ wearing his sweatshirt. It’s not like this is the first time this has ever happened, but there’s something— _something_ in the glint of Shinsuke’s eyes that makes his heartbeat thunder in his ears. 

“Shin,” Atsumu starts, licking his dry lips, “I think that sweatshirt is mine.”

“Yours?” Shinsuke tugs loosely at the collar, dragging it to the side and letting it slip down the slope of his shoulder. His fingers follow the movement of the fabric along the line of his collarbone and Atsumu watches them with eager eyes, drinking it in greedily. “And what would that make the person wearing it then?”

“Mine,” Atsumu is quick to respond, a hoarse whisper, rushed and demanding. “Mine, all mine.”

He looks back up to Shinsuke’s face, tensing when he meets Shinsuke’s waiting gaze, trapped in its unwavering intensity. He nearly chokes when Shinsuke slowly raises a brow, all signs of nerves gone from his expression, leaving behind an amused half-smirk that Atsumu wants to taste.

“Yer not wearin’ anything else, are ya?” He needlessly crosses his fingers in his lap, hoping for— he actually doesn’t know if he’s hoping for an affirmative or not, because either way Shinsuke responds will devastate him. 

Shinsuke’s smirk grows into a knowing smile, almost approving, as if Atsumu has said exactly what he wanted him to. The smile feels like a reward, sending a thrill of satisfaction across Atsumu’s body, a rush of pride through his head like the beginnings of a high.

With a shake of his head, Shinsuke confirms what Atsumu had both desired and dreaded. “Nope. I missed ya so,” he leaves his sentence unfinished, shrugging as he brings his knees up to his chest and folds his arms over them. He sets his chin atop his arms and the curl of his spine and the hunch of his shoulders makes him look impossibly small for someone such as _the_ Kita Shinsuke, so small that it makes Atsumu’s chest ache, wanting nothing more than to wrap himself around the warmth of his boyfriend.

“Is this supposed ta make me feel better?” he asks, unable to help how childish it sounds, petulant and sulky. 

Shinsuke’s lashes flutter as he resists the urge to roll his eyes. “I can just go then, if you’d rather,” he responds drily, giving him a flat look. 

“No!” Atsumu rushes out, pouting fiercely in an attempt to look as pitiful and placating as possible. This time Shinsuke does roll his eyes, shoulders trembling with a huffed laugh, and Atsumu’s expression relaxes back into one of starry-eyed wonder as he goes back to admiring Shinsuke with unmasked longing.

“I just.” His gaze rakes over Shinsuke’s form, his pale legs tucked up against him, the hem of Atsumu’s sweatshirt slowly sliding down his legs to reveal more and more skin, sliver by sliver. “I just really wish I could touch ya right now.”

Shinsuke doesn’t say anything else and Atsumu is content to just watch him, following his movements with rapt attention, as if he’ll be tested on it later. He watches the brush of Shinsuke’s hands over his bare skin, the way they run up and down his calves as if to rub warmth back into them. But then they travel up to his bent knees, hover for a split second, and then finally down the unmarked expanse of his thighs, nudging the sweatshirt even lower with each drifting motion, and Atsumu knows each stroke is purposeful, knows its for him, knows where this is going.

He feels famished, watching his boyfriend with open hunger, ravenous to touch, to mark, to _feel_ , and where his mouth should be watering over something so enticing, it runs dry as Shinsuke’s fingers push into the plush of his thighs, dimpling the softness there, digging in hard enough for Atsumu to remember the way they give beneath his own touch, but not hard enough to mark. Like he would. Like he wants. Like he _craves_.

“Actually,” Shinsuke starts in that slow way of his, the one that commands attention with a single word, that Atsumu hangs onto like a lifeline, as if his body instinctively knows that whatever’s at the end of the sentence to come is everything he has ever needed, “There is one other thing I’m wearing that might interest ya.”

Atsumu’s tongue feels heavy in his mouth. His grip on his phone tightens, as does the drawstring of his shorts, pressure increasing. He licks his lips, clearing his throat so his voice sounds a little less wrecked, a little less desperate than he feels right now. “O-Oh yeah?” He can’t help the tremble to his words, the barely contained excitement, the pulsing arousal beginning to thrum through his veins, heating up to a simmer beneath his skin. “Can I see?”

“It’d be a shame not to show ya I suppose,” Shinsuke muses, looking as if he’s actually considering _not_ showing him. Atsumu almost can’t feel his face but his expression must break, giving Shinsuke the reaction he wants, because he laughs softly, low and deep, satisfied with what he sees.

“I really miss ya, ‘Tsumu,” he whispers before he begins to move, shifting to reposition himself. His voice is serious, eyes intense, and Atsumu can’t move, struck motionless by anticipation.

Atsumu watches him set the phone down, fixing it to rest securely at the angle he wants. He expects Shinsuke to sit back, to pull the sweatshirt up and off his body, to reveal something pretty and delicate beneath the heavy fabric. He expects soft lace, maybe even smooth leather, across the expanse of Shinsuke’s chest, but he gets neither. What he does get is the broad line of Shinsuke’s shoulders when he turns around, tension evident in his silhouette, illuminated against the dark of his bedroom by only the light from his phone screen.

Shinsuke glances back at him, biting his lip, nervous again but his eyes still carry that same intensity. His cheeks are flushed a gentle pink, warm and delicate. He bends over and Atsumu sucks in a slow breath as his sweatshirt rides higher, higher, higher, watches the way it reveals the curve of Shinsuke’s ass like curtains rising over an art piece.

“Shinsuke,” he begins, praise ready on the tip of his tongue, but the words die almost instantly when Shinsuke bends further and his hands come back to dig into the plush of his cheeks, spreading himself apart for Atsumu to see.

Glass gleams at him from the dimness of Shinsuke’s bedroom, snug where it’s pressed into him, an oversized jewel winking at him from its base.

Atsumu can’t speak, can’t believe he’s been presented with _this_ — so _good_ , so tempting, so inviting, and yet. And yet he cannot touch, cannot feel for himself, cannot reach out and run his fingers over the plug, grip it hard, push it in and hear the noises it will pull from his boyfriend.

“Pretty,” he finally manages, voice ragged and rough, sounding impossibly desperate. He rambles, unable to stop his tongue from tripping over itself. “ _Fuck_ , that’s so hot— yer so fuckin’ pretty, so fuckin’ good ta me.”

“Good?” Shinsuke asks, but the smirk on his face tells Atsumu that he already knows. He wiggles his hips, just to be cheeky about it, and Atsumu is entranced by the way the plug catches the light from his phone.

Stupidly, Atsumu watches more than feels his hand reaching out, as if to touch, before realizing there’s a phone screen and countless kilometers between them, and lets his arm drop. He swallows with difficulty before asking, “Since when?” His voice cracks and he shakes his head as if to expel the cloudiness of arousal swirling in his mind before trying again. “When did ya…?”

“When ya texted me,” Shinsuke replies easily, as if they’re discussing the weather and not the fucking glass plug in his ass, still on display for Atsumu, a sight that he’s currently trying to sear into the backs of his eyelids. “When ya told me that ya missed me.”

“That was _hours_ ago!” Atsumu bursts out, head spinning as he realizes all that Shinsuke must have done in the time leading up to their call. He thinks of Shinsuke opening himself up on his own fingers, can clearly picture the broken expression of his whenever Atsumu is the one to do it. He thinks of Shinsuke spending the minutes waiting for their call with that feeling of overwhelming fullness coursing through his body, the plug shifting within him with every step he takes, a secret to the rest of the world except for him. All for him. Just for Atsumu.

Shinsuke turns back so he’s facing the camera again, the plug hidden from view once more, but the vision remains ingrained in Atsumu’s one-track mind. But now that he’s looking his boyfriend in the face again, the flush on his cheeks and the beads of sweat traveling down his neck have more meaning, little reminders, faint signs of what he’s done for Atsumu. What he is doing _to_ Atsumu.

The sweatshirt crumples as he gets comfortable again, the damned garment still draped over him, and Atsumu wants to take it in his hands and tear it from his body, lick over the gleaming skin of Shinsuke’s chest, dig his hands into the dips of his waist, and replace the plug with his own length, bury himself in his warmth.

He doesn’t even realize how heavy he’s breathing until he registers Shinsuke’s wide smile, pleased and knowing. But from this angle, Atsumu can also see how affected he is by the way the fabric is beginning to tent between his legs and he smiles back, satisfied that he isn’t alone with the simmering heat of arousal creeping over him. 

“I told ya I missed ya,” he says, as if that’s explanation enough, shrugging almost nonchalantly. His smile takes on a touch of teasing when he continues. “Missed the way ya feel inside of me.”

The words hang in the air between them, staticky yet solid, said so casually, but they sink into the pit of Atsumu’s stomach like an anchor. He takes in a shaky breath to steady himself, feeling his cock beginning to fill in his pants at the memory of it, the surrounding warmth, the overwhelming tightness swallowing down his length, the way Shinsuke gasps for breath with each roll of his hips. His eyes squeeze shut and when he opens them again, it’s to find Shinsuke lifting a brow at him. 

“Something the matter, ‘Tsumu?” he asks, curling a hand beneath his chin. He looks so calm, so unaffected, but when he shifts where he is sitting, Atsumu can see the way his entire body reacts, a split-second of tension lancing through him before he relaxes back into his bedsheets, no doubt feeling the movement deep within him. He continues as if nothing happened, as if he isn’t currently sitting on inches of solid glass inside of him, as if he isn’t driving Atsumu absolutely _crazy_. “If ya want something, all ya have to do is ask.”

Atsumu’s fingers tighten around his phone in anticipation of the question sitting on his tongue. “Can I,” he takes in a sharp breath, his mind still swimming with glistening glass and flushed skin, “Can I see again?”

Shinsuke hums, looking as if he’s considering whether or not to oblige, but he’s already moving to sit back, setting the phone at a better angle. This time he remains facing the camera, spreading his legs to frame the screen so Atsumu can see a peek of the plug beneath him. He spreads his thighs further, letting his hand travel low to skate over the bejeweled base, circling it with the tip of his finger like he would his own hole. 

“Ya know,” he breathes out, and the way his voice trembles makes Atsumu look up at him in surprise. But what he finds is narrowed eyes and a smug smile, an air of confidence Atsumu doesn’t get to see very often around Shinsuke, but one that always, _always_ , leaves his breath stalling in his chest. “It’s real embarrassing showin’ off like this.” Despite this statement, the expression on his face betrays his words, anything _but_ embarrassed.

He smiles, all coy and smirking, as if he knows full well what he’s doing to Atsumu. He definitely does.

It is this smile that has Atsumu scrambling to relieve the pressure in his pants, his free hand shoving at the waistband of his shorts in earnest. He barely hears Shinsuke’s soft laugh over the roaring in his ears, insistent to free his half-hard cock from his shorts. He pushes both his shorts and his briefs down to his knees, letting the fabric bunch up between his thighs and the couch beneath him. He barely registers the discomfort, savoring the relief of a hand around his length as he gives himself a loose pump.

“Tell me what it feels like,” he says, voice breathy, shaking as he tightens his fist around himself.

Shinsuke’s eyes flash at him and he takes the base of the plug into his hand, giving it a small twist that makes his mouth part in a silent gasp. “Full,” he answers, and his hand twists again. “Full, but not full enough. Not like how ya feel.”

Atsumu’s hand travels lower to cup his balls, rolls them in his palm, before he brings it back up to rub over the head of his cock. The precum smears across his skin and he uses it to make the slide down his shaft a little easier. “Pull it out Shin,” he requests, delirious, eyes focused only on the way Shinsuke’s fingers dance over the glass. “Lemme see.”

Shinsuke does as asked, tugging the plug out slowly, _so_ unbearably slow, until just the rounded tip can be seen disappearing into him. The glass gleams in the lowlight, slick, wet, obscene, and Atsumu inhales shakily. He can’t believe he’s seeing this and he _really_ can’t believe he can’t even _touch_. It’s almost unfair, how much his body aches to be there, to hover over his boyfriend, to press the plug deep into him with the flat of his palm and then drag it out just as quick, replace it himself and draw out those little gasps that Shinsuke makes.

He should be the only one filling him up, the only one to experience that deep warmth. That possessive feeling sinks deeper into him and he grips his cock tighter, almost painful, his mind swimming with the memory of the way Shinsuke clenches down on him. He licks his lips, head heavy with desire, barely hearing his own voice when he says, “Push it back in.”

Shinsuke lifts a brow at him, expression of cool surprise, but the flush creeping up his neck and the sweat beading at his temples gives him away. “Someone’s real demandin’ today,” he whispers, but his words reach a higher pitch at the end just as the plug disappears all the way to the base, sliding back into him easily.

“Can ya come like this?” Atsumu asks shakily. He thumbs at the head of his cock, rubbing the pearls of precum into his cupped hand.

Shinsuke shakes his head. He tugs and pushes at the plug again and Atsumu watches, entranced, as the length of it once again glides back into him. “It doesn’t,” he stops to take a gasping breath as his hand twists particularly sharply, “It doesn’t hit as deep. As you do.” His chest rises and falls with a sharp breath, deep, steadying, before he continues. “Wish it was you.”

“Use yer fingers,” Atsumu replies, almost desperate, wanting to see his boyfriend fall apart before his eyes. He looks down at himself, his cock red and leaking and begging for release, and when he looks back up it’s to see Shinsuke dropping the plug somewhere off to the side. Atsumu watches his fingers slip back down to his hole, coated with fresh lube, scooping up the residual left behind from the plug. He curses, loudly, unable to look away as Shinsuke circles his hole again and then, without hesitation, pushes two fingers inside.

“ _Shinsuke_ ,” Atsumu breathes, eyes wide as he takes in the sight of him. “ _Fuck_ , one more. One more, please.” His hand begins to move faster over his cock, the slip easy now, almost wet, his living room filled with nothing but the sounds of his heavy breathing and the _schlick schlick_ of his firm strokes.

Shinsuke rucks the sweatshirt up his chest, stuffing the hem into his mouth to muffle his own noises as his fingers drive deeper into himself. He uses the two to scissor himself open, once, twice, three times before adding another finger. The fabric clenched between his teeth does little to muffle the moan he lets out, for which Atsumu is thankful, because the sound goes straight to his throbbing cock.

“Good, ‘Tsumu?” Shinsuke lets the hem of the sweatshirt fall from his lips, allowing it to drop to his heaving chest as his fingers keep up their steady pace. His other hand drags up to his pecs, cupping the swell of them between long fingers before they drift up to tweak at his stiff nipples. The little gasping hiccups each pinch and pull elicits from him urge Atsumu’s own hand to move faster. “I’m going ta— _shit_ — I’m close.” His wrist twists beneath him, hitting an entirely new angle, and it makes his mouth drop open, silent, breath caught in his throat, choking on the stimulation. 

Atsumu moans at the view presented before him, the image of Shinsuke, wrecked with arousal, chest flushed, cock curved up, hole eagerly swallowing his relentless fingers, is enough to edge him painfully close. He bites his lip, working himself faster. “ _Fuck_ , ya look so— ya look so good Shin, fuck I wish I could touch ya— I want to feel ya _so_ bad,” the words tumble from his mouth without second thought, his mind scrambled, only focused on Shinsuke and his own impending release. “Wish it was me inside of ya, wish it was me makin’ ya come— yeah like that, Shin, holy shit— just like that—”

Shinsuke moans loudly, taking his cock in hand and jerking himself quickly. Atsumu’s ramblings make him shiver, his entire body reacting to Atsumu’s desperation, and his back arches, impossibly tense, drawn taught with quickly approaching orgasm and his fingers don’t stop where they’re stuffed inside of him. And suddenly his mouth falls open, moan silenced by the tension gripping his entire body as his peak crashes over him.

Atsumu chokes on his own groan, watching streaks of come splatter onto Shinsuke’s chest, all the way up to where the sweatshirt is bunched under his armpits, dark stains sinking into the fabric as Shinsuke’s hand continues to milk himself through his orgasm. His chest rises and falls rapidly and his hands slowly come to a stop, fingers slipping out of him, leaving his hole red and puffy and wet with lube. Sweat glistens over his body, mixing with cloudy spots of cum. He looks so _perfect_ , all tanned skin flushed dark with exertion and ruffled hair tamped down to his forehead, and his torso is a complete mess, half-covered in the heaviness of Atsumu’s sweatshirt, half-covered in his own release.

It’s this picture that Atsumu comes too, his orgasm nearly taking him by surprise, too focused on drinking in the fucked out sight of his boyfriend in front of him. He gasps as his arousal tightens and tightens, impossibly tense in the pit of his stomach, until it breaks and he throws his head back, hitting the couch behind him. His vision goes white, and his cock is spilling all over his fist, and all he can hear is the soft praise Shinsuke is giving him as Atsumu rides through his own pleasure.

* * *

Good things come to those who wait; this, Atsumu knows, and once again comes to realize when he arrives home that following weekend to the sounds of the rice cooker beeping in his kitchen, followed by the soft shuffling of towels against countertops. He bounds through the genkan, nearly tripping over his house slippers in his excitement, to find the one and only Kita Shinsuke standing over his stove like it’s completely normal for him to be here. Like he belongs here.

(Which, Atsumu strongly believes, he does.)

Shinsuke doesn’t even have the chance to get a word in before Atsumu has scooped him up into his arms and buried his face into his neck, breathing in the comforting smell of his home. He laughs, soft, bright, familiar, as a hand comes up to card through Atsumu’s wind ruffled hair.

“Ya planned this, didn’t ya!” Atsumu accuses later while they’re having dinner, still running on the high of coming home to his boyfriend, kilometers away from where he should be, yet right where he belongs. “You and Sunarin, ya did!”

Shinsuke covers his laugh with a hand pressed to his mouth, eyes curving up, crinkling happily at the corners. “I told him not to bring ya home,” he admits. “I wanted ta surprise ya.”

Atsumu beams at him, shuffling closer to Shinsuke as they sit side by side at his dinner table, unwilling to let any distance keep them apart in the short time he gets to have him here. He clings to his side even after their meal, his fingers trailing over his shoulders as he listens to Shinsuke tell him about the train ride or squeezing his hands when he reaches out to brush Atsumu’s bangs out of his eyes or coming to rest on Shinsuke’s hips as he dutifully begins to wash the dishes stacked in the sink.

“We can do that later,” Atsumu hums, leaning down to rest his forehead in the crook of Shinsuke’s neck. He lets his lips brush against the collar of his shirt, closing his eyes as he sinks into the feeling of Shinsuke wrapped in his arms.

Shinsuke is not ticklish, but he shivers all the same at the way Atsumu’s breath warms over his skin. Atsumu’s hold tightens around him, pressing his chest to his back, the entire length of his body flush against Shinsuke.

“It’s not good to leave things sittin’ around,” Shinsuke tells him, voice light, but the message is clear. Atsumu must wait. He reluctantly lets go of his boyfriend and moves to find a towel to begin drying.

When he goes to catch him after the sink is finally clear, Shinsuke slips away from him with a bright laugh, looking thoroughly amused at the way Atsumu whines, still reaching for him. “I’m going ta shower,” he whispers, letting Atsumu drag him in for a quick kiss. “And then I’m all yours. Hm?”

After all, good things come to those who wait; this, Atsumu knows, but doesn’t truly appreciate until he’s in his room, listening to the sounds of movement in the ensuite, the shower trickling to a close and the soft shuffling of footsteps across bathmats. He grins in anticipation, setting his phone aside and tossing his legs over the side of the bed, facing the doorway as he waits for his boyfriend to emerge.

“Tsumu, ya know, I read something interestin’ the other day,” Shinsuke’s voice calls from the bathroom. The rustle of clothes sliding over skin follows his voice out into the bedroom.

Atsumu sits back on his hands, his body beginning to thrum with the faintest shade of arousal, but he pushes it aside to listen to what Shinsuke has to say. If Shinsuke finds something interesting, it usually turns out to be pretty damn interesting. “What was it?”

“Did ya know socks help ya orgasm? It’s supposed ta make it easier and makes it feel stronger, somethin’ like that.” Shadows flicker across the floor as Shinsuke moves around inside the bathroom.

Atsumu’s ear prick at this, intrigued. “No way?” he asks, genuinely curious. He crosses the room quickly and begins to rifle through his dresser to find a pair. “Wait, we should give it a try Shin! Ya need some?”

Shinsuke’s voice is much clearer, much closer, when he responds. “No, I think these’ll do.”

Atsumu turns around and the socks in his hand slip through his fingers and onto the floor, the drop unnoticed and, frankly, unimportant. He gulps, throat suddenly dry.

Humming, as if he’s deep in thought, Shinsuke twists his legs and taps the tips of his toes against the floor, looking down at himself in calm appraisal. “Whatcha think ‘Tsumu? These okay?”

Okay. _Okay_? _God_ , they’re so— they’re thigh high and a delicate sheer white and tipped with blush-pink lace and hugging the curves and slopes of Shinsuke’s legs and there’s fucking tiny little bows at the tops of his thighs and they’re so— they’re _so fucking hot_. They squeeze around the sleek shape of his thighs, just enough to push them up and over the tops as if he’s overflowing, too big, too muscular, too _much_ to contain. Too much for Atsumu.

“Holy shit,” he breathes out, rooted to the floor. “Holy fuck.”

Shinsuke leans against the doorframe, smirk unfurling across his face, satisfied. He looks so content, so smug, but he also looks like a fucking dream, dressed in Atsumu’s threadbare sleep shirt and those _socks_ , everything Atsumu could ever want. He knows his boyfriend doesn’t care for them, but he sends a silent thanks up to whatever Gods put this idea into Shinsuke’s mind.

Clicking his tongue, Shinsuke gives him a tiny shake of his head. “Language, Atsumu. I know ya can do better than that.” He pauses, leveling his gaze on Atsumu, piercing, commanding. “So. What do ya think?”

The distance between them disappears in three strides and Atsumu takes Shinsuke up in his arms in one smooth movement, one arm around his waist, the other dragging his sheer-covered thigh up to settle over his hips. Shinsuke’s legs wind around him easily, his hands resting gently on Atsumu’s chest as Atsumu presses him against the wall. He’s already half-hard, filling out in his pants, and he eagerly grinds against Shinsuke as he brings him tight to his chest.

“I think,” Atsumu starts in a low whisper, his voice dropping as he leans in to nose at Shinsuke’s neck, letting his breath fan across the skin that slides into view as his much too large shirt slips off to the side, “I dunno ‘bout easier, but they’re definitely making _me_ hard.”

Shinsuke laughs, quiet but light, bringing a gentle hand up to cup Atsumu’s face and keep him close. His smile stills on his face when Atsumu presses the flat of his tongue to the slope of his neck, dragging a slick line all the way up to his ear. “I take it ya like them then.”

Atsumu suppresses the need to _growl_ , feeling something nearly primal stir in him as he feels Shinsuke’s legs shift where they are wrapped around him, the scratch of his socks sending sparks flying across the bare skin of his waist. He digs his hands into Shinsuke’s thighs, breath hitching at the way the muscle flexes beneath his touch, tightening their hold on him, tensing the fabric stretched across their expanse. He runs his nails lightly up and down his legs, the feeling of soft skin to sleek fabric and back again making his stomach tighten with arousal.

“Yer keeping ‘em on,” Atsumu tells him, pausing for just a moment to nip lightly at the shell of his ear. “Forever.”

Shinsuke laughs again, the sound filling the bedroom, only broken by the little gasping hiccup he lets out when Atsumu swings him around, away from the wall and over to the bed, dropping him into the mussed up sheets. He bounces lightly as he looks up at Atsumu, a picture perfect sight to see: white socks, tousled hair, rumpled shirt, slipping off to the side to reveal unblemished skin, waiting for Atsumu’s hands and his tongue and his teeth to mark, to bruise, to claim.

Atsumu wastes no time, nudging his knees apart so he can climb over him and press his mouth to his waiting lips. Shinsuke’s kisses are familiar, something he has had countless times before but it always feels like the rush of a high right when it creeps up on you, every press of his lips, every slide of his tongue, every soft gasp just helping it build and build until there is nothing left to feel, nothing but him. Atsumu takes Shinsuke’s hands in his, palms flat against each other, dragging his arms up on either side of his head to cage him in, cover him completely, surround him entirely, reduce his world to nothing but Atsumu.

He presses into him more eagerly, tongue curving over the swell of his bottom lip, a stark red smear contrasted with the paleness of his face, kissed swollen in Atsumu’s rush. Shinsuke’s hand comes up to cup Atsumu’s jaw, using one finger to trace the sharp edge of it, following its movements as Atsumu kisses him deeper. He allows him one last kiss, and then he grips Atsumu’s chin in the curl of his palm and jerks his face to the side.

The world opens back up with Atsumu’s gasp, forced to lean away as he blinks in surprise, dazed. Shinsuke kisses lightly across his cheek, his hold on him unwavering, keeping him in place with just the barest of pressure from his hand so he can brush his lips against the curve of Atsumu’s ear. “Yer so eager,” he whispers to him, right up against his skin. Atsumu can hear the breathiness of his voice, the slick of his lips as he shapes the words and his mouth nearly waters with the need to taste him again. “Don’t ya wanna take yer time with me?”

As he speaks, he curls his leg around Atsumu’s waist again, drawing him impossibly closer with a squeeze of his thigh, before letting it drag slowly down to rest across the back of his legs. The fabric from his socks scratches against him all the way down, but the sensation only leaves goosebumps in its wake. Atsumu suppresses a shiver.

Atsumu can’t help but reach for him, addicted to the feeling of the rough material beneath his palm as he runs his hand up and down the length of his socked leg. His fingers toy with the lacing wrapped around Shinsuke’s thigh as he looks down at it with sparkling eyes, an almost child-like wonder. “I’m gonna be real honest Shin,” he tells him, looking up to catch Shinsuke’s waiting gaze for a quick moment. “I won’t last long with ya wearin’ these.”

He doesn’t wait for Shinsuke’s response, instead leaning to the side table to find the lube and toss it onto the sheets for easier access. His hands return to slide up Shinsuke’s legs, all the way to the curve of his hips and back to splay across his bare ass. He is, unsurprisingly, not wearing anything under the oversized shirt he’s got on. Atsumu sucks in a breath, fondling him eagerly before gripping him tight, holding him flush against him. He moves them further up the bed until he’s settling down with his back against the headboard and Shinsuke comfortably straddling his waist. 

For all his talk of taking their time, Shinsuke is already reaching for the lube, the click of the cap sharp and sudden in the quiet of the bedroom, drawing Atsumu’s attention. He is in the middle of squeezing a liberal amount into his palm before Atsumu takes the bottle from him, scooping the lube from his hand and hiking Shinsuke further up his lap.

“I wanna do it,” he murmurs, winding his arm around Shinsuke’s waist while he peppers kisses from the corner of his mouth all the way up to his temple. He whispers close to his ear, letting his lips brush against the side of his face. “I wanna feel ya.”

Shinsuke turns to murmur his assent against Atsumu’s lips before kissing him hard, drawing the breath right out of Atsumu’s chest. His fingers find their way into his hair, skimming all the way from his abs, up his chest, and to the nape of his neck. He tugs lightly, urging Atsumu on when he feels him teasing around his hole.

Atsumu circles the tip of his finger over Shinsuke’s rim, spreading the lube and letting it warm under his touch before slowly pressing in. Shinsuke leans into it, back arching, pushing back against his finger, insistent, already eager for another.

“Keep going,” he whispers against Atsumu’s lips, and Atsumu can finally hear how desperate he’s getting, evident in the way his voice rasps as Atsumu slides his finger out and back again. A second presses in beside it a moment later and Shinsuke moans, pressing harder against Atsumu. He tosses his head back, lips parted with a soft gasp as Atsumu opens him up slowly, exposing the slender curve of his neck.

A hand gently stops Atsumu before he can descend upon the unmarked expanse of Shinsuke’s neck and he leans back to watch Shinsuke tug his shirt over his head. His breath catches in the back of his throat, licking his lips as the garment is tossed aside and he takes in the pretty flush to Shinsuke’s chest, nearly glowing with a sheen of sweat, dusky nipples already begging for attention. His free hand splays across the small of Shinsuke’s back and presses him back down, close once again, and he drags his lips along the straight line of his shoulder to the junction of his neck.

Shinsuke whispers his name almost reverently when Atsumu licks over the jut of his collarbone, traveling up to suck bruises into his skin, alternating between hot open mouthed kisses and pressing the flat of his tongue against the purple marks he leaves in his wake. He says it again, a soft sigh of “Atsumu” drawing him up to kiss Shinsuke properly, tongue sliding over his lips before slipping into his waiting mouth. 

Atsumu adds a third finger to the two scissoring Shinsuke open, lube spilling over his hand as he moves his fingers faster, impatient to bury himself in Shinsuke’s warmth. The moan Shinsuke lets out is swallowed down by his eager kisses.

A satisfying wave of arousal courses through him at the way Shinsuke slowly falls apart in his arms, too focused on the fingers thrusting in and out of him to kiss Atsumu back properly. His mouth falls lax beneath Atsumu’s, letting out little hiccuping whines when Atsumu twists his wrist just right, curling the tips of his fingers just up against his prostate.

“Please,” he whimpers, lips clumsy against Atsumu’s as he tries to regain himself, tries to focus hard enough to kiss him solidly, but Atsumu chooses that moment to thrust deeper and his head lolls back, chest heaving, losing all sense of anything except the way his body opens up so well to Atsumu’s ministrations.

“I got ya, I got ya,” Atsumu shushes him with a kiss, soft, loving, before slowly pulling his hand back and wiping the excess lube on his shorts. He shuffles Shinsuke off his lap long enough to shove the rest of his clothes off, kicking them to the foot of the bed without a second thought just as Shinsuke trickles lube onto his waiting cock. He hisses at the chill but it is nothing compared to the hot arousal thrumming beneath his skin.

Shinsuke apologizes with the softest smile on his face and his hands curling around Atsumu’s length, slicking him up, sliding loose fists up and down almost torturously slow. Atsumu nearly comes from the sight of him, his coy smile, his legs tucked under him, in those _fucking_ _socks_. His hands fall to Shinsuke’s waist, digging in hard and pulling him forward so their cocks brush against each other.

He doesn’t think he can wait much longer and Shinsuke must see the flare of impatience cross his face because he rises up on his knees, hand steadying Atsumu’s cock around the base before he lines himself up and finally presses in.

The first touch has Atsumu growling, his fingertips pressing even harder into Shinsuke’s hips as the head of his cock slips past his rim, enveloped in a rush of heat. He expects the first slide to be slow but instead, Shinsuke takes a deep breath and sinks down completely, driving Atsumu all the way home in one fluid motion.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Atsumu groans, loud, sudden, overwhelmed with the feeling of Shinsuke surrounding him completely.

Shinsuke leans forward, his forehead falling against Atsumu’s shoulder with a shuddering gasp. “Tsumu,” he breathes out, voice thin, skin flushed, body tense, impossibly full. He stills for just a moment longer before he lifts up and presses back down in quick succession, drawing out a loud moan from the two of them.

Atsumu throws his head back, hips jerking up as Shinsuke begins to ride him in earnest. His eyes fall shut, mind hazy, unable to focus on anything but how tight he feels, the way his hole clenches around him every time he is drawn in deep. He whimpers when Shinsuke presses down, completely seated, and rolls his hips slowly, driving Atsumu impossibly further inside of him.

A hand curls around the back of Atsumu’s neck, fingertips pushing at his nape, and Shinsuke’s voice snaps him out of his head, low and commanding. “Atsumu,” Shinsuke says through gritted teeth. “Atsumu. Look at me.”

It is a sight to _see_ , Atsumu will later realize when he thinks back to this moment, opening his eyes to watch Shinsuke grind down in his lap, wearing nothing but lace-trimmed thigh highs as he pushes himself back onto Atsumu’s cock, chasing his release with a drunk sort of desperation.

That same desperation sinks into Atsumu and his grip around Shinsuke tightens, holding him still so he can shift their positions. He gently pulls Shinsuke off of him, turning him over to press him into the bed on his hands and knees.

Shinsuke follows easily, curling his fingers into the sheets, ass high, presented prettily to Atsumu as he looks at him from over his shoulder. “Do yer worst,” he teases, wiggling his hips. The movement makes the bows on his socks sway and Atsumu reaches out to run his hands up and down the inside of his thighs, over the sheer fabric, growing damp with sweat and drops of lube. He dips his fingers into the top of one and snaps it against Shinsuke’s skin, grinning, watching the way it vibrates over his thigh.

Without another word, Atsumu spreads him open, rubbing the length of his cock over his flushed hole, tapping the head against its slick rim and then pressing in with a quick thrust. Shinsuke’s back curves, his moan long and deep as Atsumu begins to fuck into him. He works up to an almost brutal pace, enjoying the sound of his hips hitting the plush of Shinsuke’s ass, the slap of skin on skin making him heady with pleasure. But it’s the way Shinsuke’s legs shake and tremble, those lacy little bows continuing to flutter and quiver with each of Atsumu’s thrusts back into Shinsuke’s tight heat, that make the arousal build and build.

“Close— shit, _ah_ — ‘Tsumu, I’m _close_ ,” Shinsuke stutters, voice breaking each time Atsumu’s hips drive into him.

Atsumu curls over him, pressing his chest flush to Shinsuke’s back, pushing away the hand he’d had on his own cock so he can take care of him himself. Clumsily, he jerks Shinsuke off in time with his thrusts, the rhythm stumbling as he gets closer to his own orgasm, but Shinsuke is soon moaning, his entire body tensing up before he comes, spilling hot all over Atsumu’s fist.

Shinsuke’s arms and legs shudder with difficulty to keep himself upright as Atsumu continues to fuck him, milking him through his orgasm while chasing his own. He collapses onto his elbows, completely spent, when Atsumu leans back and slowly pulls out. The head of Atsumu’s cock catches on his rim and Shinsuke whines, half-muffled where his face is pressed into the rumpled sheets, the sound nearly lost beneath Atsumu’s growling moan as his release catches up to him.

He jerks himself through it, watching with great satisfaction as he comes all over those pretty socks wrapped around Shinsuke’s legs, streaking across the backs of his thighs and over the pink lace and sheer white fabric. His cock twitches in his hand when he finishes, his hand slowing over his length, breathing heavily as the exhaustion begins to sink into his body.

Atsumu curses softly, taking a moment to immortalize this image in his mind. He looks at the mess he’s made of his boyfriend with something akin to pride. No, nevermind, it’s definitely pride.

Gently, he rubs his hands up and down Shinsuke’s arms, slowly coaxing him to lay flat to take the stress off his tired limbs. Shinsuke goes down with a soft sigh, already looking sleepy.

“Much as I hate ta say it, let’s get ya out of these.” Atsumu laughs as his hands travel down to tug lightly at the dirtied socks. Shinsuke mumbles incoherently in response, allowing Atsumu to peel them off of him without complaint. He wraps them in the discarded clothes tossed aside from before, then heads to the bathroom to dump all of them into the laundry hamper.

Shinsuke follows after him quietly a few moments later, steps slow, exhausted but smiling. “We need another shower,” he says, wrapping his arms around Atsumu’s waist and leaning heavily into him. 

Atsumu draws him close easily, leaning down to nose at his ruffled hair and press soft kisses into the crown of his head. He holds him like that, just for a moment, before he whispers, “Ya got any more pairs?”

“‘Tsumu, please,” Shinsuke rolls his eyes, smacking his chest as he pulls away from him. “The mess on me hasn’t even dried yet and yer already roarin’ for another round?”

Atsumu laughs as he follows his boyfriend to go wash up. “Okay, but did the socks help?” he asks, referring to what Shinsuke had said earlier.

“Hm?” Shinsuke makes a soft noise to acknowledge his question as he steps into the shower. “Oh. No, that’s just for women. I just wanted ta see how you’d like ‘em.” He looks over his shoulder at Atsumu, who stares back at him with slowly dawning realization. He pauses, letting this sink in, his eyes flicking up and down Atsumu’s sweaty form. “Though, I do think the socks were _highly_ effective for _you_.”

(“If I buy ya another pair, will ya wear ‘em again?”

Shinsuke hums as if he’s deep in thought. “Maybe.”

“What about a dress? Would ya wear a dress?”

Shinsuke looks at him through narrowed eyes, a slow smirk unfurling across his face. He reaches out to curl a hand over Atsumu’s jaw, cradling his face gently. “I dunno ‘Tsumu,” he says, slow, serious. He bites his lip, gaze flickering down to Atsumu’s mouth and then back up to his eyes. “I think you’d look real pretty in a dress. Dontcha want me ta fuck ya like that? I bet you’d look real good.”

Atsumu freezes, caught in his stare, mouth dropping open in silent shock as he processes this, his mind moving impossibly slow. “Fuck,” he breathes out before he is stumbling over himself to get out of the shower, dripping wet, suds still running down his shoulders. “I’m orderin’ it! I’m orderin’ it right now!”)

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading! you can find me on [twt](https://twitter.com/iwaizakis), and the fic promo can be found [here](https://twitter.com/iwaizakis/status/1354945235072106498) ♡


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